I Can't Dance (But I Don't Care)
by Maura16
Summary: Enjolras hates parties. He hates cheap beer and dancing and crowds. And he especially hates this asshole who won't leave him alone... Enter Grantaire.


**This was basically a tiny idea I had which morphed into this... I saw a post on tumblr, I think, and then- boom. Cute e/R.****  
>This is my first Les Mis fic (well. My first finished one. I have about seventeen in the middle of being written) so constructive criticism is much appreciated.<strong>**  
>This fic is dedicated to the lovely Summer! Who was sad and then I was sad because she lives very very very far away and I can't hug her or make her cake. But fanfic of OTPs is the next best thing, right? She's fabulous and beautiful and just great to talk to. And we fangirl about Les Mis and George Blagden (asdfghhkl) and I just love her, okay?!<br>So yeah. Hope you like it, Summer, and everyone else too of course!**

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><p><span><em><strong>I Can't Dance (I Don't Care)<strong>__  
><em>  
>Enjolras took a sip of his drink and grimaced. He'd never been fond of beer, and this beer was particularly shitty... But he was a broke student now, and this was the cheapest drink available. So this was what he had.<p>

And he was drinking alone. Alone in a quiet corner of the union- that is, a comparatively quiet corner. This stupid 'party' he'd been dragged to had taken over the entire union, and every room was filled with music and people dancing and chatting and laughing. This was not Enjolras' scene at all. He was a great public speaker, had never worried about speaking in front of crowds... But put him _in_ the crowd and it was a whole other story.

He had arrived with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, and they had all got a drink and sat together, chatting- well, shouting to be heard, really.

But before long, Courfeyrac had wanted to go and dance. And Enjolras did not like dancing. For one thing, he was absolutely dreadful at it, never knowing how to move. Also, he hated the press of strangers up against him. So, no. Enjolras did not dance.

But Courf adored it, so Enjolras had expected him to want to dance, but _Combeferre?!_ Dancing?! Enjolras had given him an incredulous look when he'd stood up with Courf, but Ferre had just laughed and said, "It's Freshers Week, Enjolras! If you don't dance now, you'll never dance!" Enjolras had scoffed and his friends had laughed and then they'd left him there, off to jump up and down in another room where the music was even louder than in here.

So now Enjolras was sitting alone with his terrible drink... And getting hit on. Repeatedly. At first he'd been flattered, and he'd simply politely told the people flirting that he wasn't interested. They'd taken it well for the most part- although one had made a cryptic remark about face paint that Enjolras had puzzled over for a minute and then ignored.  
>But after a while it had gotten tedious- the same pick-up lines, the same drunk confidence... And the guy talking to him now was not taking no for an answer. He was absolutely plastered, swaying and slurring, and he would <em>not<em> leave.

"I'm not interested," Enjolras said firmly, for what felt like the tenth time. "And I'd like to be alone please."

"You don' mean tha', babe," the man said, leaning further into Enjolras' personal space. "Of course you're in'er'es'd in me..."

Enjolras smelled the alcohol on his breath and wrinkled his brow in disgust. He was just preparing himself to punch the guy, preparing to be thrown out of yet another place for violence, when someone threw themselves down on his lap, wrapping their arms around him.

At first, he was expecting Courfeyrac, who was very free with his hugs, but all he saw was a mass of black curls, before the man said, very happily and enthusiastically, "hey babe!" before burying his face in Enjolras' neck. Enjolras flinched, and was just about to forcibly remove the man from his lap when he felt lips against his ear, and an urgent whispering.

"I'm sorry for the hug and shit, but you looked so uncomfortable and I thought you wanted help? I could pretend to be your boyfriend? Montparnasse should accept that. My friend knows him; he's a terrible drunk but not a bad guy."

The stranger sat up, smiling at the man- Montparnasse?- who had been hitting on Enjolras and was now staring at them both. Enjolras was reeling, both from the influx of words the man had spewed, and the unfamiliar feeling of a warm person on his lap, but he tried to keep a straight face. He probably failed. He'd always been a terrible actor.

The stranger grinned at Montparnasse. "How you doing, man? Not trying to steal my boyfriend away, were you?"

The guy blushed as the words permeated his alcohol sodden brain. "Oh, 'm sorry. I di'nt realise he was tak'n!" And he quickly apologised and left, staggering a bit as he did so.

The man quickly slid off Enjolras' lap, slipping into the now empty seat next to him, grinning.

Enjolras glowered after Montparnasse's receding back. "Shouldn't matter whether I'm 'taken' or not," he muttered angrily. "Having a boyfriend doesn't make me any more of a fucking person..."

The stranger laughed loudly, and Enjolras jumped. "Take a chill, Apollo! It's a party, not an activist meeting."

Enjolras turned his glare on the man, but he just grinned. He had a drink in his hand, Enjolras noticed for the first time, and as Enjolras stared at him, he took a swig, showing no sign of the distaste that Enjolras felt when he drank it. He was very attractive, Enjolras thought, all wild black hair and tanned skin and piercing green eyes, broad shoulders and muscled arms and the edge of a tattoo poking out from under his t-shirt. Enjolras shook his head, trying to banish the thought from his mind.

"Apollo?" he asked instead.

The man laughed again. He had a nice laugh, unrestrained and filled with mirth. "Yeah, you know. The blond hair, chiselled features, general air of righteousness... Plus I don't know your name."

"I'm Enjolras," said Enjolras stiffly, not sure if he'd been complimented or not.

"I'm Grantaire, but my friends call me R."

Enjolras snorted and Grantaire chuckled. "You like the pun?"

He smiled. "Maybe not _liked_ it, as such..."

Grantaire laughed. "Ooh we should have a pun competition!" Enjolras groaned.

"Please, no, I get enough of that with Courf..."

Grantaire looked at him, head cocked to the side.

"Oh, Courfeyrac. He's one of my best friends. He's a bit... Exuberant."

Grantaire smiled. "Is he here?" Enjolras nodded.

"Yeah, he and my other friend Combeferre were with me. But then they went dancing. And left me here."

Grantaire smirked. "Aww, what a shame! Left you here to get hit on by drunken strangers."

Enjolras frowned. "That was not fun. And why were they almost all guys?! Am I giving off some sort of sign?!"

Grantaire gave him a strange look. "Apollo, you've got green and purple face paint on." Enjolras reached up to his face, vaguely remembering humouring Courfeyrac by allowing him to force Enjolras into a queue for face paint. "Yeah, so?" he said dismissively.

Grantaire laughed. "It's a traffic light party? You wear different colours or paint your face? The colours signify different things? Any of this ringing a bell?"

Enjolras shrugged and Grantaire let out an incredulous noise. "Honestly, Apollo?"

"I don't really like parties," Enjolras said defensively.

Grantaire heaved a huge, fake sigh and Enjolras chuckled.

Grantaire lifted his head in mock surprise. "You do have a sense of humour then! Wow. I thought you must have had it surgically removed, to not be laughing at beautiful moi."

Enjolras laughed again despite himself, and Grantaire smiled. (Enjolras tried to ignore the odd fluttery feeling he felt. He'd made Grantaire smile like that...)

"Anyway. The colours," Grantaire continued, looking oddly flushed. "So, you've got red, which means you're in a committed relationship. Yellow means you're not looking for anyone but if you see someone you like, you might go for it. Green pretty much just means go. And purple really just means you're gay or bi. And you usually pair the purple with another colour. So you-"

Enjolras groaned. "Courfeyrac," he hissed. Grantaire laughed.

"You're wearing purple and green, you're sitting alone, you're extremely attractive..."

Enjolras glanced up. "You think I'm attractive?"

Grantaire blushed. "Umm, yes? Very."

Enjolras smiled. He'd been told he was attractive before, but somehow, hearing it from Grantaire was a whole other story, and made him feel stupidly warm inside.

"But you're wearing all the colours," Enjolras commented, pointing at the streaks of face paint over Grantaire's face. The other man chuckled.

"Yeah, my friend was having a bit too much fun with the paints," he said, smiling. "But I'd be wearing the same colours as you, if I'd chosen." Enjolras felt a thrill run through him at Grantaire's words, but he ignored it.

They sat without talking for a while, just sitting and listening to the music. It was strangely comfortable.

"So, umm..." Grantaire fidgeted, looking suddenly apprehensive. "You aren't, then?"

Enjolras frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I'm not what?"

Grantaire swallowed, looking very awkward. "You're not gay then? You seemed mad at your friend and I wasn't sure if..." He trailed off, taking a gulp of his drink.

Enjolras blushed. "No, I am," he said. "Very gay, that is," he clarified; trying (and failing) to pretend that the swooping feeling he felt at Grantaire's look of happiness was completely unrelated.

They sunk back into a contemplative silence, Enjolras trying to puzzle out the other man. He was _very_ hard to read, but Enjolras wanted to learn...

Grantaire looked like he was wrestling with a tough question, brow furrowed and shoulders tense. Then he took a deep breath, draining his drink and straightening his back. Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

"Umm. Apollo? I mean, Enjolras. Umm... Would you like to dance? With me. In case that wasn't clear. Unless you don't dance, which you probably don't, that's why you're sitting here, I'm sorry, it was stupid, I'll just..." Grantaire stopped his rush of words, blushing furiously and not meeting Enjolras' gaze, his green eyes hidden by his dark curls.

Enjolras smiled, endeared by Grantaire's nervous babbling. "Of course I'll dance with you," he said firmly. "I'd love to."

Grantaire looked up in surprise, and then beamed. It was like watching the sun come out, and Enjolras felt a little blinded. He could look at Grantaire's smile all night...

But the other man was standing up, offering a hand to Enjolras, who took it, pulling himself to his feet. He noticed that Grantaire was only a couple of inches shorter than him. For some reason, this gave him a thrill. All Enjolras would have to do would be to bend a tiny bit and he could press his lips to Grantaire's...

So he did.

Grantaire gasped in surprise and Enjolras recoiled. "I'm sorry, was that...?"

Grantaire laughed shakily. "No, that was... That was good. Great actually. Can we do it again?"

Enjolras laughed, relieved, a sudden and unexpected feeling of affection rushing through him. "Of course," he said softly, and brought their lips together again.

Enjolras didn't know how much time had passed when they broke apart, suddenly becoming aware of their surroundings.

"Maybe," Grantaire said hoarsely, then cleared his throat. His lips were red and swollen, and Enjolras found his gaze drawn to them. "Maybe we should continue this another time?"

Enjolras smiled. "I'd like that," he said, and Grantaire smiled back.

"Shall we dance?" Grantaire asked suddenly, as if remembering their initial reason for standing up.

Enjolras blinked in surprise. "Yes, sure," he said tentatively. "Although I'm not very good at it..."

Grantaire twined his fingers through Enjolras', and squeezed. Enjolras squeezed back, unable to help his grin.

"I don't care," said Grantaire happily, tugging on Enjolras' hand, and they made their way to the dance floor, not letting go.

Enjolras and Grantaire danced all night, laughing and bouncing in time to crazy, terrible chart music. And for once, Enjolras didn't care that he hated the music and the crowd and the heat and the noise. He didn't care that he _couldn't_ dance, he just kept moving. Because Grantaire kept meeting his gaze, his green eyes shining with happiness as he moved and swayed and shimmied.

At one point, Enjolras saw Courfeyrac, who smirked at him as if to say "I told you so". But Enjolras didn't care. Maybe, with Grantaire by his side, this year would be amazing.

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><p><strong>I <strong>**was at a Freshers event (because I was a Fresher. Because I've started uni. Eek) similar to the one mentioned here. But I did not get hit on and I did not get rescued by a Grantaire, sadly. (Although, random tangent, there are so many attractive people at this bloody university I just can't deal with it...)  
>Feedback is much appreciated 3<strong>


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